Chili Con Carnage

Ug. Gained a pound last week. Weighing in on Monday is a dumb dumb dumb idea. ESPECIALLY after the Superbowl. See, the weigh-in Monday is supposed to get me to resist that second brownie (ok, it is supposed to get me to resist the first one, too), skip the brown sugar-sprinkled bacon-wrapped cocktail weenies, and stick to happily munching on the veggies and fruit while everyone else eats chili with cheese and Fritos, tortilla chips with taco dip, and hot wings, along with the aforementioned goodies. Supposed to. Didn't. I ate it all. And it was goooood, and I felt miserable and had terrible dreams that the superbowl party hostess took me, unsuspectingly, on a murderous spree and was about to pin the whole thing on me. My psyche was in tune with the fact that I had succumb to her plot to incite carnage on my diet efforts. Superbowl - 1, me - +1 on the scale. Damn.